


Acceptance

by TARDISvwoop



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Grieving John, Implied/Referenced Suicide, John Watson Visits Sherlock Holmes's Grave, M/M, POV John Watson, Post-Reichenbach, Reichenbach Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 08:31:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12339129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TARDISvwoop/pseuds/TARDISvwoop
Summary: John Watson stands at Sherlock's grave, grieving and reflecting on all they've been through while secretly pining after him. This angsty poem follows John's thoughts as he tries to convince himself to accept Sherlock's death.





	Acceptance

**Author's Note:**

> This poem was originally supposed to be an assignment for school, but being the Sherlockian that I am, I just had to secretly make it fanfiction. As such, I had to change some of the details and make it vague-ish so it wouldn't be too obvious when I passed it up. Other than that, it mostly follows the plotline of Sherlock.  
> Well, now that that's cleared up, buckle up for some feels 'cause that's what you're gonna get. 
> 
> (Warning: Mentions of suicide)

  


I stare  
at the gilded letterings marking your name.  
They glint in gold, though they will never be  
as radiant as when the words first rolled off your tongue, first we met,  
and nowhere near as worth.  
They don’t do you justice, no. Can’t capture how your name sounds in that cello-purr voice, and the accompanying peacock-tilt of your head.  
_(Can’t capture the way my heart instantly leaps to dance to your gavotte.)_  
I reach out.  
Brush the black marble, and it scalds me  
with its chill.  
For a moment, my mouth burns with the taste of too-hot coffee—your coffee—instead of sawdust on dry lips.  
I remember  
that was the first time you made coffee; the first time you ever made me anything.  
_(Come back. Come back, and make me one last cup. I promise I won’t complain about the sugar this time.)_  
My knees buckle, and I find myself gripping the ogee top.  
Look, i’m leaning on you, even now.  
You, the foundation that has kept me strong.  
You, the only thing I ever lived for.  
_(You._  
_I was so alone, and then I met you.)_  
I was filthy stained glass, and you were the cloth  
that scrubbed away at coats  
and coats  
and more coats  
of my pain, and misery until you were nothing  
more than a rag.  
_(I owe you_  
_so much.)_  
Then you were my angel with broken wings, but you were nothing  
short of beautiful.  
Where others saw blood on your trembling hands, I saw nothing  
but the scars they bear.  
Where all else met with darkness in your supernova eyes, I glimpsed—  
Everything.  
Every dewdrop thought, every splinter of emotion, every shadowed truth.  
I saw me, the way you did.  
I heard you wonder  
how was it I could love something so sad and so torn  
and it broke my heart to think you didn’t know  
that was exactly what you did for me.  
_(Did you expect me to set you free, after you let me see the universe_  
_through you?)_  
The taste of salt and sadness fills my mouth, again.  
How dare you abandon me like this? When the last memory I have of you is the impossible tears on your face,  
because angels don’t cry,  
because my angel doesn’t cry, no, not when I was supposed to protect you  
Like you were sent to protect me.  
How dare you leave me with this useless therapist who insists  
I shouldn’t be seeing your face  
everywhere I look  
after this long?  
_(But she doesn’t know_  
_the sight of you_  
_is the only thing that keeps me alive these days.)_  
How dare you jump, when you knew full well you couldn’t fly anymore  
and I couldn’t catch you before  
you hit the ground?  
How dare you whisper “goodbye” with the very same mouth that promised  
you would never give up on me, that you would stick by me  
until the end of time?  
_(The same curve of forbidden-fruit lips that I have longed_  
_to brush with my fingertips._  
_If only I still had the chance.)_  
How dare you be so naïve to think that you could spare me,  
save me,  
from whatever was breaking you apart from the inside?  
Because, I can assure you, I have been the one  
slowly rotting away ever since you—  
Since you—

 

Died.

I stare  
as tears patter onto the gilded letterings marking your name.  
This is your grave. It has been for years.  
And I know I should try to forget. Move on. Get on with life.  
But each time I come back, I realise  
I am nowhere near letting go.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope you guys enjoyed that! Buh-bye!


End file.
